


Curtain Call

by ColtsAndQuills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, F/M, Mostly Fluff, holy scripture according to gabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:04:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColtsAndQuills/pseuds/ColtsAndQuills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little more than six years ago, you discovered both love and angels. These days, the memories felt like a fairytale, impossible and as distant as childhood. That is, until an unexpected visitor shows up for your daughter's school play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curtain Call

Maybe you could try picturing the audience naked.

Granted, you weren’t the one who was going to be performing, but the nervous energy coursing through your body could be sympathy pains of some kind, right? After all, the seats were steadily filling, the auditorium coming alive with excited chatter and the flash of cameras. It was only natural that you’d feel a pang of stage fright for your daughter.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Truth was, there was little chance she was nervous. She had giggled when telling you stories of classroom rehearsals, paraded around the house in paper wings for days.

More than once, watching her memorize lines quietly at the kitchen table as you made dinner, you had found yourself admiring her strength, her understanding. Life as a single parent left you with little time for things like practicing for a school play, but she never cried, never yelled. When you tucked her in at night, heart swollen with guilt and apologizing over and over, she would only smile, wrap her arms around your neck, and tell you, “It’s okay, mommy. Wait till you see. I’m gonna steal the show.”

She had cried, at first, when she didn’t get the lead role of Mary. You weren’t sure when or how her enthusiasm for playing an angel came about, but she had since fallen in love with the part. Maybe it was the costume.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker off and on, breaking you out of your reverie. People quickly began seating themselves, but it wasn’t until the principal took the stage that everyone quieted down. She went through the painful rigamarole of what behavior was expected of the audience: no eating, no drinking, try to remain seated throughout the play, and please,  _please_ , no talking. 

“Lot of rules for a place that doesn’t even offer valet parking,” said a voice at your side. 

Your purse nearly jumped out of your lap as you started.

“When did you get here?” you gasped. “Why are you even here? How did you know?”

Gabe smiled and shrugged, as if it hadn’t been years since you had seen him last. As if your last conversation hadn’t ended in an argument… and your demands that he leave.

“Gabe, you can’t just—”

“Shh,” he hushed. “Curtain’s going up.”

Several parents in nearby seats were staring threateningly at you, daring you to interrupt the show with your chatter. Resigned, you zipped your lip and counted the minutes as the play began. For the next half hour, you tried your best to focus on the off-key songs, the wobbly delivery of lines, and the fumbling narration of a terrified-looking second grader. However, you could never go long without sliding your gaze to the side. Each time, you stared in wonder at how little the years had changed him. You knew angels didn’t age. He had told you, long ago. It was one reason of many for why things ended as they did.

“Hey, eyes up front.” His smile shone with anticipation as he looked eagerly to the stage. “This is her act coming up.”

So many thoughts and emotions to deal with, but as your daughter stepped out into the spotlight, everything else in the world was forgotten. Each step she took was bold, her face bright and determined as she moved to stand beside a sitting Mary. She was perfect. The absolute definition of an angel.

From a visual standpoint, it turned out Gabe disagreed.

“Aw, now, look'it her. What is that, a potato sack?” he sighed. “We were one of God’s first creations, his finest works of art, and they think we ran around in bed sheets? She looks like she’s going to a toga party.”

You waved your hand to quiet him as the narrator pressed his lips to his mic.

“God sent the angel Gabriel to the city of Nazareth, to tell Mary of the miracle to come,” the boy read from a card. “When the angel entered Mary’s home, he greeted her.”

A rush of excitement swept through you, guiding your lips into a smile. All the hard times, the extra work hours, the loneliness — this moment made it worth it. Seeing your little angel up there, beautiful, sweet, innocent and—

“Greetings, sweetcheeks! What’s up?” Your daughter, temporary angel of the Lord, winked at the Holy Virgin. “The Lord is with you. Not to mention, me, Gabriel, best of the biblical bunch.”

You thought she may have waggled her eyebrows. Maybe it was a trick of the light. It had to be.

The narrator looked at the principal, confused. You couldn’t see the woman’s face from behind, but she was gesturing energetically at the boy to continue.

“Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be,” he read. 

 _For good reason_ , you thought. 

The girl playing Mary looked horribly bewildered, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t because she was a good actress. Meanwhile, your daughter had swung an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, relax. You’re Dad’s number one girl. You, babe, are gonna give birth to one hell of a kid. The son of God, even. He’s gonna be hot, let me tell you. Throne of David, Jacob’s descendants, eternal Kingdom, greeting cards, federally mandated holiday, the works!” your daughter gleefully announced.

You supposed you should have been impressed that she got the pronunciation of all those words down, but you were too busy being scared shitless. The principal had just twisted about, fast as a viper. You sunk low in your seat. With the lights off, it was impossible for her to pick you out, yet you somehow knew she was honing her gaze, seeking you in the crowd. Any second she’d find you, and you’d probably spontaneously combust in the name of all things holy and the PTA.

In the meanwhile, Gabe was positively pleased. He was even mouthing the lines in time with their delivery.

“Is this your fault?!” you hissed.

He grinned, sincerely flattered. “I just coached her a little. Now, shh! Best part is coming up.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

Your daughter walked proudly to the center of the stage, made a grand gesture of throwing out her arms, and announced:

“The Holy Spirit will come on you!“

Oh. My.  _God_. You elbowed Gabe, livid.  "What were you thinking, you pervert?! She’s only six!”

Gabe just about choked. So did the rest of the audience. Below, the principal was frantically calling something up to your daughter.

“Oh!” your daughter exclaimed. She put her fist to her mouth, dramatically cleared her throat, and announced, “The Holy Spirit will come _upon_ you!”

Your narrowed your eyes at Gabe, who was still shaking with laughter. 

“I swear I didn’t teach her that. That one was an honest mistake,” he managed between snorts.

At least things couldn’t get any further out of control. The scene was almost over.

“And the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Then, boom!” Your daughter clapped her hands for emphasis. “Bun in the oven! And just F-Y-I, even though she’s a bit over the hill, your cous’ is knocked up, too. But hey, double birthday parties, twice the cake, am I right?”

Mary stared. The narrator stared. Neither phased your daughter one bit. Shoulders thrown back, smirk in place, she returned to the would-be Mother of Christ, patted her head, then held up a hand.

“Good girl. Up top,” she said.

Mary glanced uncertainly at the principal, who was now holding her head in her hands. Seeing as how that wasn’t an outright objection, Mary turned back to your daughter, grinned, and gave her a high five.

The narrator’s voice squeaked as he closed the scene, proclaiming, “And then the angel left her.”

Amid nervous giggles and hand clutching, the children found their way to the front of the stage and bowed.

When they rose, the room was silent.

Panic gripped your heart. Your baby girl, the most precious part of your life, deserved love. Love from you, love from a father, and damnit, love from this freaking audience, even if her performance was a little… unconventional. 

If they wouldn’t applaud, then you’d be damned if you wouldn’t cheer loud enough to make up for all of them. You shot up from your seat, ready to make some serious noise, when one voice cut through the quiet like a clap of thunder in the eye of a storm.

“Brava! Now that’s  _art_! Brava!” Gabe applauded loud and heartily, uncaring of the faces turned to him, save for one.

Your daughter’s eyes had met his across the distance.

Blasphemous, he had once said to you. That’s what they would call her. An unholy creation, undeserving of life. She would never be accepted, but hunted. Destroyed for the sin of two lonely people finding one another in a moment of tender vulnerability. 

But they were the same. 

When she was happy, her eyes, so curious in color, shone like sunlight through a tumbler of whiskey. 

When she teased, it was always with the sassy quirk of a lip, the smugness of a kitten with one paw in the milk.

When she looked at you, laughed with you, comforted you, he was there in every gesture, every touch, every breath.

It didn’t matter how far or how long Gabriel ran, because he could never fully hide the truth — not from himself or any other.

Lips flattened, you rose from your seat, ready to scream your praise along with him. This moment. At least this minute in time you would share together, as mother and father, ignoring what the world forced you to deny.

But as you stood, the crowd followed. Applause began to roll through the auditorium, gaining speed and volume, building until it crashed upon the stage and the three children. You were so overjoyed, so relieved, that you didn’t notice when Gabe took your hand tightly in his own.

 

* * *

 

An hour and one birth-of-Christ later, you were tightly hugging your daughter backstage. Gabe had disappeared sometime during the intermission. It didn’t surprise you, but that didn’t make your chest ache any less. Some scars would always hurt.

“What’d you think?!” your daughter asked, beaming.

“Just like you promised, sweetie.” You grinned and leaned in close to her ear, whispering, as if afraid of hurting the feelings of the other kids running about. “You stole the show.”

She giggled and whispered back, just as conspiratorially, “It’s because of my guardian angel! He helped me rehearse!”

Years of practice allowed you to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat. 

“Yeah, speaking of him. When were you going to let me know you were getting a visitor? What’d I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“I knew he wasn’t a stranger. He didn’t feel like one.” She was explaining it so patiently, but her smile suggested she thought you were silly for not understanding. “Annnd, he said it was a surprise. For you.” Her smile grew into a grin, all mischief and sparkle. “Were you surprised?”

It didn’t seem appropriate to say mommy almost had a heart attack, so you simply returned her grin and replied, “Uh huh.”

You thought that would be the end of the conversation. Some of the other parents were calling the kids together, organizing a trip to a 24-hour diner for some celebratory ice cream. But as you took her hand to lead her to the group, she pulled back, hesitating.

“He’s sorry he couldn’t stay, you know,” she said.

Your ribs seemed to constrict.

“I know, honey. Guardian angels are very busy,” you replied, struggling to portray a levity you couldn’t possibly feel.

She nodded. “He has to help two boys, now.”

You bit your tongue. Whatever tale Gabe was spinning, you knew it was probably for the best. He was nothing if not an expert at deceit. Whatever story he had told your daughter could cover up his absence better than any lie you could devise.

“Oh?”

“They’re lost. And alone. And very scared.” Gentle daughter, still soft with youth, nearly teared up as she shared the story. “He has to help them find their way. But then he’ll be back. He promised. He said he’d always be there to watch over me.”

You were hardly aware of dropping to your knees, of clutching her to your breast, your face buried in her hair. They had braided tinsel between the strands. It tickled your nose. That’s why your eyes were glassy. You had to sneeze, that was all.

“And you, too, mommy.” She was stroking your hair, much as you had done for her on many a sleepless night. “He said he’ll always watch over you, too.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

 

* * *

 

Gabriel stood, his face turned to the stars. He could still smell the baby shampoo, strawberry sweet, on the collar of his jacket. She had rested her head there when he hugged her goodbye.

Tonight was going to be a tricky affair, even for him, but his heart felt lighter than expected, his courage fortified by the promise to return to you both.

The neon blue of the Elysian Fields Hotel’s sign flickered overhead as he stepped through her doors.

Family, more than anything, was worth fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this supernaturalimagine prompt](http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/120230614984/anon-cropped). Story also featured [here.](http://coltsandquills.tumblr.com/post/121388360301/curtain-call-characters-gabriel-reader-words) Thank you for reading!


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